A/N: My name is this story is gonna be Libby. Enjoy reading!
I was sitting there in my baggy old sweatshirt and jeans on the dining table chair, stressing. Stressing why you may ask.
"I don't understand the square root!" I finally screamed, throwing down my grade eight math textbook.
Mama rolled her eyes, "Drama queen." she muttered. "How many times do I have to tell you?"
I got off the dining table chair and stomped into the kitchen where she was preparing the orange cake batter. "What'll I even do with this in life if I'm gonna be an author, Mama?" I groaned. She told me to listen to her with open ears.
"Go use a cotton swab if you need to," she said, as she sprayed oil on the pans. I rolled my eyes and smiled.
"Tell me," I said.
"Square root is basically just one number times the same number. So what would the square root of twenty-five be?" she asked.
I calculated it in my head. "Five..."
"But this is a hundred twenty-one!" I pointed at the thirty-first question in my book. "It doesn't have a root," I said. This was getting on my nerves. I wanna rip every single one of these pages and burn them and never see these ugly numbers again!
"Do you know your times tables?" Mama asked. I nodded. "How about eleven's table?" I nodded again. "Start," she said, mixing the batter of the cake. I recited the entire eleven times table from eleven to a hundred and ten.
"How about eleven times eleven and eleven times twelve?" Mama asked me, pouring the batter into the pans. A drop of batter fell on her apron.
"Um, a hundred and twenty-one. And... a hundred and thirty-two." I said. "Mama, I'm not even kidding, I've been doing this math for the past two hours. My mind is saturated." I cried.
"Stop, Libby." Mama scolded, tossing the batter into the heated oven. "What's the square root of a hundred twenty-one?"
"Sorry, but I don't know." I sighed.
"What's eleven times eleven?" Mama asked me, taking off her apron and hanging it on the pantry's doorknob. She walked out of the kitchen and sat on the dining table. We locked eyes.
"A hundred twenty-one," I said.
"What's eleven times eleven?" Mama asked me again.
"A hundred twenty-one," I replied.
"What's eleven times eleven?" Mama asked me for the third time.
"A hundred twenty-one!"
"What's the square root of a hundred twenty-one?" she asked. I stared at her.
"I. Don't. Kn -" I paused. "Ohhh." I laughed. Mama smiled and got up clean up the kitchen. I laughed so hard my stomach started hurting. Tears even came out of my eyes.
"Eleven times eleven is one twenty-one, and the square root of one twenty-one is eleven." I laughed, shaking my head. "I'm so stupid." I giggled and scribbled the answer in my textbook.
I looked at the next questions.
What is the square root of 225?
"How am I supposed to know?" I muttered.
"MAMA!" I called out. "I NEED HELP AGAIN!"